LYRRISE'S POV...
The wrath was eating me alive.
I couldn't see anything but red, couldn't hear anything but the pounding of my own blood in my ears. My katana dripped like molten fire, growing heavier, sharper, hungrier—like it wanted to cut down the whole world.
Aralin's laugh echoed through the haze. "Yes… yes! Lose yourself, Lyrrise! Become mine!"
I roared, lunging forward—
Then the world exploded into smoke.
Thick clouds swallowed the battlefield, choking my sight. The air turned bitter and gray, stinging my eyes, forcing me to stumble. A hand gripped my wrist—firm, desperate.
"Snap out of it, Lyrrise! You're not dying here!"
That voice… I knew it. Through the haze, I caught a glimpse of familiar blue eyes.
"Mathilda?" My voice cracked, half a snarl, half a plea.
She didn't answer. She just pulled me, dragging me through the choking smoke. I could still hear Aralin's furious shouts, feel his presence pushing against the mist, but the smoke was thick, and his figure never reached us.
I tried to resist, my body trembling with the rage that hadn't left me. My blade kept twitching in my hand, begging me to turn back. But Mathilda held on tighter, her magic cloaking us like a shield.
"Don't look back," she hissed. "If you do, you'll never come back."
Her words pierced through the haze of wrath. Slowly, painfully, I forced my katana to dissolve back into blood, dripping down my skin in rivulets. My knees buckled. The fury inside me howled, demanding to be unleashed again, but Mathilda's grip kept me grounded.
And just like that… we were gone from the battlefield.
The smoke carried us away, hiding me from Aralin's eyes.
For the first time in hours, I could finally breathe.
"I have to finish him." My voice shook as I tried to push myself back onto my feet. My blood was still boiling, the echo of Aralin's mocking laughter still sharp in my skull. "I can't just leave him—"
"Lyrrise!" Mathilda snapped, stepping in front of me. Her brows furrowed, her usual playful pout gone, replaced by genuine worry. "Do you even hear yourself right now? What about your parents? Amelia and Aelric are probably out of their minds looking for you."
Her words struck deeper than Aralin's blade ever could. My chest tightened, the fury that had blinded me moments ago faltering like a candle in the wind. Parents. My parents.
The smoke began to thin around us, lifting with the changing air. And then—light. A soft orange glow bled across the horizon, painting the broken earth with morning. For the first time since the fight began… the sun had returned.
Without another word, I broke into a run. My legs trembled beneath me, the ground still split and torn from the earlier clash, but I didn't care. I needed to see them. I needed to know they were safe.
When I reached the town, my heart sank. The streets I had walked every day were carved open like wounds. Buildings crumbled, the ground fractured into jagged canyons from the riftborns' hunger. People cried out, some injured, others clutching what little remained.
And then—I saw them.
Amelia. Aelric.
Standing amidst the chaos, searching desperately, their eyes darting through the crowd.
"Mom… Dad…" The word tore from my throat, weak and desperate, and before I knew it, tears blurred my vision. My feet carried me forward, faster, faster—until I crashed into their arms.
Amelia gasped, clutching me so tightly it almost hurt. "Lyrrise! Oh, gods—you're bleeding, what happened to you?! Where were you?!" Her hands frantically brushed over my face, my arms, as if making sure I wasn't disappearing before her eyes.
Aelric's embrace was quieter, but no less firm. He held me like he never wanted to let go again, his steady voice grounding me through my sobs. "You're safe. That's all that matters. You're safe."
For the first time in what felt like forever, the fury inside me was silent.
I couldn't let go. My arms wrapped around Amelia and Aelric again, tighter this time, as though if I loosened even a little, they might vanish like the smoke that had saved me moments ago.
Warmth. Safety. Home. That's what their embrace felt like.
I buried my face against Amelia's shoulder, her familiar scent calming the storm raging inside me. Aelric's steady hand rested on my back, grounding me. In that moment, I realized something so painfully clear that it ached in my chest.
Blood doesn't make a parent… love does.
My so-called biological father, Aralin, spoke of power, destruction, and destiny. But here—these two, who weren't bound to me by blood—offered nothing but love, fear for my safety, and comfort for my soul.
"They're my real parents," I whispered to myself, my voice trembling but certain. "Not the man who made me… but the ones who raised me. The ones who stayed."
Amelia pulled back just enough to cup my cheeks, her eyes filled with worry and love. "What was that, sweetheart?"
I shook my head quickly, forcing a faint smile through my tears. "Nothing… just—I'm so glad I found you both."
And I hugged them again, holding on like it was the only thing keeping me from falling apart.
I finally stopped sobbing, though my eyes were still wet. Relief poured through me like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. Amelia and Aelric were alive. They were safe. That was all that mattered.
As I wiped at my eyes, I noticed a familiar figure walking toward us. Cyril. His silver hair caught the morning light, his expression softer than I expected after everything that had happened.
"Lyrrise," he said quietly, almost like he didn't want to intrude. "I was looking for you."
Amelia's gaze darted between me and Cyril, and then she smiled knowingly—too knowingly. "Ah… so this must be your boyfriend."
My face turned hot in an instant. "W-what?!" I stammered, shaking my head furiously. "No! He's not—It's not like that!"
Cyril's eyebrows rose slightly, but his lips curved into the faintest smirk, as though he was entertained by my embarrassment.
Amelia chuckled softly, covering her mouth. "Oh dear, forgive me. I must've misunderstood…"
I wanted to bury myself in the ground. Why did she have to say it like that?!
Aelric cleared his throat, clearly amused but trying not to show it. "Well, whether he is or isn't… I'm glad someone's looking after you."
Cyril stepped closer, meeting my flustered glance with calm, steady eyes. "Always."
My cheeks only burned brighter.
The day stretched on as if it wanted to last forever. Amelia and Aelric kept me close, asking if I was hurt, if I had eaten, if I had slept enough. Their questions poured over me like a warm blanket, and I answered each with a small smile just to keep them from worrying. Cyril stayed nearby, quiet, polite, listening as my parents spoke about the academy and the chaos earlier. He didn't say much, but I could feel his watchful gaze, sharp and unreadable, as if he was studying every word and every move I made.
Hours passed, and eventually Amelia tugged Aelric away to gather supplies. For the first time since the sunrise, I was alone with Cyril. The quiet between us wasn't awkward—it was heavy, like the calm before a storm.
He stepped closer, his voice low but firm.
"Lyrrise… I already know."
My heart skipped. "Know what?" I asked, though part of me already feared the answer.
His eyes locked onto mine, unflinching. "About your plan. You intend to go after Aralin. On your own."
The breath caught in my chest. I tried to look away, but Cyril's presence was like a wall I couldn't avoid. His tone hardened.
"Tell me, Lyrrise… what is your connection to him?"
I lowered my gaze, gripping my hands together so tightly my knuckles whitened. A part of me wanted to lie, to protect myself. But Cyril wasn't the type to be fooled by half-truths. And if he kept pressing, eventually… he'd find out anyway.
So I exhaled slowly and whispered, "Aralin… is my biological father."
The silence that followed felt endless. My words hung between us like a blade.
Cyril's expression didn't shift much, but I caught the faintest flicker of shock in his eyes. He didn't move, didn't speak—he just looked at me, waiting for me to go on.
I swallowed hard, my chest heavy. "I didn't ask for it… I didn't want it. But I can't erase the blood that ties me to him."
For the first time in a long time, I saw Cyril's composure slip—just a little. His jaw tightened, and the hand at his side clenched into a fist.
The words were out, and I couldn't take them back. I had expected Cyril to demand answers, to scold me, maybe even to offer one of his rare reassurances. But instead, he stood still for a long, unbearable moment. His red eyes lingered on me, unreadable, sharp, and heavy as if he was weighing the truth against everything he thought he knew about me.
Then, without a word, he turned. His footsteps were steady, quiet, and unhurried as he walked away.
"Cyril—" My voice cracked before I could finish.
But he didn't stop. He didn't look back.
The stoic mask he wore when he left me behind cut deeper than any blade. I wanted to chase him, to make him listen, to explain more, but my legs wouldn't move. The weight in my chest pinned me to the ground.
From that day forward, Cyril kept his distance. In training, he didn't meet my eyes. During meals, he sat far away. Even in the dorm, his silence pressed heavier than words ever could.
It wasn't hatred. It wasn't anger. It was worse.
It was as if I had become invisible to him.
I told myself I could endure it, that his cold shoulder was nothing compared to Aralin's looming threat. But when the people I cared about started to feel further away, it was harder to convince myself of that lie.
The academy was quiet—too quiet. The kind of silence that only Dris carried, when even the crickets dared not sing. Every window was dark, every dorm sealed, and yet my heart pounded as if I were stealing something forbidden.
I had already slipped Rael and Lior out—Rael in his irritating cat form tucked under my arm, and Lior prowling beside me as a sleek hound. They didn't argue when I told them the plan. Maybe because they could feel how restless I had become. Maybe because they knew I wouldn't stop.
The gate was right there. Just one more step outside the safety of the walls and we'd be on the road to Aralin.
Then—clang!
A blade spun out of nowhere and buried itself into the ground in front of me. The shock made me stumble back, my blood katana flickering into my hand on instinct. My breath caught when I looked up.
Cyril was leaning against the wall, half his face hidden under shadow, half painted in the glow of the blood moon. His red eyes gleamed like sharpened steel, and the faint curl of mist from his blade proved it had been him.
"Going somewhere?" His voice was low, serious.
I froze. My throat tightened. Rael shifted nervously in my arms, while Lior growled softly beside me. But I couldn't tear my eyes away from Cyril.
The way he looked at me—cold, unreadable, yet cutting right through me—made it impossible to breathe.
"I—" The word barely left my lips before faltering.
He pushed off the wall and walked toward me, each step deliberate, the moonlight catching on his blade.
"You really think you can leave," he said, "without me noticing?"
Cyril's footsteps echoed against the stone path as he closed the distance between us. His blade still glimmered faintly, but the real sharpness was in his eyes—cutting, demanding, impossible to ignore.
"What's your plan, Lyrrise?" he asked, his tone dangerously calm. "Running into Aralin's den without telling anyone? Without me?"
The weight of his words pressed on me harder than the blood moon's light. I gripped the hilt of my crimson katana tighter, but I refused to meet his gaze.
"It doesn't matter," I muttered, brushing past him, hoping my voice sounded steadier than I felt. "Just… don't get in my way."
But the moment I tried to step forward, Cyril's hand shot out, grabbing my arm with a grip like iron.
"Lyrrise—"
I turned, startled, just as he pushed me back, pinning me against the cold wall. My breath hitched as my shoulders pressed into the stone. His face hovered close, his eyes burning with frustration, maybe even something else.
"Do you even hear yourself?" His voice was low, but it trembled with intensity. "You think you can face Aralin alone? You think you can just brush me aside like I'm nothing?"
My chest tightened. The closeness, the rawness in his voice—it made me want to snap back, to shove him away. But my hands wouldn't move. I was trapped between the wall and him, his frustration radiating into me like fire.
"I'm not letting you go to him alone," Cyril whispered, his breath brushing my ear.
"Cyril—let me go!" I hissed, pushing against his chest with all the strength I could muster.
But he didn't budge.
It didn't make sense. I knew I was stronger than him—faster, sharper, fueled by a power he couldn't even begin to comprehend. I could've broken his grip, shoved him back, even drawn my blade if I wanted to.
Yet… I couldn't.
My hands trembled against him, my palms pressing harder, but it was useless. Not because I lacked the power—because I lacked the will to use it. Something inside me refused.
"This isn't you," I said through clenched teeth, frustration bubbling in my chest. "You're not like this."
His eyes darkened, his grip tightening as though my words only pushed him further. "You think I can just stand by and watch you throw yourself at him? You think I'll let you walk away when I know what he is to you?"
The blood moonlight cut across his face, sharpening the angles of his jaw, highlighting the storm brewing in his eyes. For a fleeting second, I didn't see the calm, collected Cyril I'd trained beside. I saw someone else—someone desperate, someone unwilling to lose me no matter what it took.
And that terrified me more than Aralin ever could.
"Cyril…" my voice cracked. "Please."
But even then, I didn't push harder. My body screamed to fight back, to free myself. My heart whispered the opposite.
I hated it.
I hated how powerless he made me feel without even using force—how my strength meant nothing against him, not because I couldn't fight him, but because I didn't want to.
"I'm coming with you," Cyril said, his voice low, unwavering. There was no hesitation in his tone—like he had already decided for me.
I shook my head sharply. "No. I already have someone else coming with me."
The moment the words left my mouth, I saw it—the flicker in his eyes, the tightening of his jaw. Frustration. Anger. Maybe even jealousy.
"Someone else?" he repeated, his grip on my arm tightening as if the thought alone burned him. "Who? Rael? Lior? You'd trust them before me?"
I looked away, my chest heavy. "This isn't about trust. I just… I want to do it alone."
His hand pressed harder into the wall beside me, leaning closer until I could feel the heat of his breath against my skin. My heart stuttered in my chest, my body betraying me. His eyes locked onto mine, unrelenting, pulling me in.
And for the first time—just for a second—I wanted it.
Our lips were so close, almost brushing, a dangerous line neither of us had dared cross before. My breath hitched, and warmth bloomed inside me, spreading like fire I couldn't control.
But then I snapped out of it.
No. This wasn't the time, and it wasn't right.
I furrowed my brows, forcing myself to turn my head slightly, breaking the tension between us. The fire in my chest turned into something else—confusion, frustration at myself for even thinking about kissing him.
I didn't come this far to lose myself now.
I kept racking my mind for a way out, a way to slip past Cyril without hurting him. If I fought, he'd get suspicious—or worse, he'd start piecing together truths I couldn't let him know.
But then his words stopped me cold.
"…You'd trust them before me?" he had said. The bitterness in his voice—it wasn't just jealousy. It was certainty.
My breath caught. Slowly, I lifted my gaze to him, narrowing my eyes. "How do you even know about Rael and Lior?"
For a moment, his expression softened. Then, to my shock, he gently took my hand in his. Before I could pull away, he brought it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss on the back of it. My heart stuttered, confusion crashing into me like a wave.
"I've been watching you," Cyril confessed quietly, his crimson eyes gleaming under the blood moonlight. "Earlier today, I followed you. I saw you with Rael and Lior—in their human forms. I heard every word, every plan you made."
My blood ran cold.
He knew. He knew more than I thought, more than I had ever wanted him to.
I yanked my hand back, stumbling a step away, my chest heaving. My mind screamed at me to deny it, to come up with something, anything to protect Rael and Lior—but the way Cyril was looking at me, sharp and unyielding, I knew it was pointless.
The walls were closing in.